Fate of the Gods 01 - Forged by Fate (15 page)

“Then you’ll have to go to my father, and risk his refusal,” she was saying. “I’m not sure he’ll allow it, Thorgrim. And if he refuses you, there will be no other way. I’ll be forbidden to see you, to even speak with you.”

“You deserve better than to be stolen away in the night.”

She raised her chin. “If I wish to go, I have not been stolen. Is it not my right to give my heart to you?”

It was cowardly, taking her this way instead of facing her father, but she pulled him toward the fishing boats waiting above the tide line, dragging him by the hand. Someone shouted for her behind them, from the village, and he glanced back. Her father, he thought, wondering what kept her.

“Please,” she said, turning to face him when he hesitated.

He growled and swung her up into his arms, carrying her to the boat he often used to fish in the evenings. No one would think it odd if it were gone. He dropped her onto the bench and shoved the boat off the beach, scraping against the rocks. He waded into the water to his knees before jumping in with her.

“How far?” he asked.

She smiled and worked the crude oars, taking slow easy strokes out to sea. “A few villages away will do. If we hug the coastline, I can tell you when to stop.”

He eyed her for a moment. She was strong for a woman, and he’d made sure she was no novice with an oar, but he was stronger. Faster. It was best to get out of sight before whoever had been calling for her came down to the beach to look.

“Let me row.”

She slid out of the way and he took over. Their speed nearly tripled. The wind shifted, and another call carried to them on the water. He turned the boat, sending them further up the shore. If they could get around the wooded headland, they would be safe from discovery.

Eve sat across from him, her back to the beach. In the sun, her skin glowed, and her aura was bright with joy and love. Golden with immortality. And yet she lived so simply as a woman within the world, not as a goddess, as she could.

“We don’t have to return,” he said. Even if he could not bring her to Asgard, it did not mean she should be trapped by the customs of men. “You can leave all of this behind. Live freely, independent of any village, any people.”

“And if I were to go, what would happen to my father’s people?”

The beach was out of sight now, and he slowed the pace of his oars. “Your father would choose a new heir. Someone else to lead, where your husband might have. Adopt a son, perhaps, though the gods might still grant him one.”

“The gods,” she repeated softly. “And what gods do you worship, Thorgrim?”

Her face was turned away from his, and he wished he had not spoken of them, but it was too late now. “None of them.”

She looked up sharply, her eyes wide with surprise. “But you speak of them as if you believe.”

He took a stroke with the oars, and then stopped, meeting her eyes. “So do you.”

“But—” She bit her lip, her forehead furrowing as she stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

He smiled. “I have traveled a long way, for years on end, and heard many stories of many gods. But faith requires doubt, Tora, and I have none.” He shrugged and began to row again. He did not wish to be on the water after night fell. Even if the chill of the wind did not bother him, the cold would bother her.

“You’re speaking honestly.” But by her tone, she did not seem to believe her own words. She was staring at him so hard now, he thought he felt her eyes piercing through his body. “How can you have no doubt? No question?”

No. She wasn’t staring at his body, but trying to search his mind. His eyes narrowed as he realized what it was he felt. The familiar pressure upon his thoughts, and the vague ache at the base of his skull. How had he not realized it before? Of course she would have some power. Some ability to help adapt herself to her people, or else she would never belong to them, her past experiences overriding her present.

He kept his mind calm and his tone mild, burying the thoughts as quickly as they had come and hoping he was fast enough to keep them from her. “What answer are you looking for, Tora?”

She flushed, dropping her eyes guiltily, and the ache disappeared. “I just don’t understand how you can be so certain. Or what it is you’re certain of.”

“Don’t you?” Had she been able to read his mind? It certainly didn’t seem as though she had. He pulled the oars in and reached for her, turning her face back to his and looking into her eyes. Without his power, he couldn’t be certain. Couldn’t find the truth in her mind for himself.

She looked troubled and confused, a wrinkle appearing between her eyes, and the thought that it was because she had seen his godhead worried him. But surely she kept her own secrets. If she knew his, too, he did not think she would speak of it. If she even believed it. She might very well consider it delusion, as she did the rest.

“You said if you told me what you hid, I wouldn’t believe you. Do you still think so?”

Her eyes darkened, and she turned her face away again. “You wouldn’t. You’d think there was something wrong with me. Or that I was a witch.”

He heard the bitterness in her voice, and it reassured him. If she had seen his own immortality, she wouldn’t worry. She would have no reason to worry. “I would never think you were a witch, Tora.”

“You say that now, but you don’t know the truth.” She shook her head, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were filled with tears. “I had no right to ask you to take me away. To ask you to bind yourself to me this way. There are so many things I wish I could tell you—that I want to tell you before it’s too late for you to stop this, but I don’t want to lose you. Lose this feeling of being loved. Not again.”

“Shh.” He pulled her to him, gathering her into his arms and holding her on his lap. She was crying now, her face hidden against his neck, her tears hot on his skin. “You won’t lose me. And I will always love you.” He stroked her hair, kissing the side of her head. “No matter what, Tora. Do you understand?”

“But you’ll die,” she sobbed, her words garbled by his shoulder. “You’ll die, and I’ll be alone again.”

He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t. That she would never be without him, but it wasn’t a promise he could make. Someday, he would have to return to Asgard, but he would not do it before her death. That wasn’t something he could explain now. It would only disturb her further.

He held her closer, pressing his face against her hair. “Tell me. So that whatever it is, I can protect you, and whatever it is, you’ll know I love you for it.”

She took a breath, gulping the air, and he felt her begin to calm. If she could read anything from his mind, she would see the truth of his words now. That he meant to love her, no matter what. The hand that had been a fist in his tunic relaxed, and she smoothed the rough wool.

He caught her hand and held it to his chest, over his heart, waiting. It wasn’t just that he wanted to know her, though he did, but that he wanted her to know he knew her and loved her all the same. Loved her more, for her immortality, for the things that made her more than human.

“You really don’t have any doubts, do you?” she asked softly, wiping the tears from her eyes.

He kissed her forehead, glad it was a question he could answer honestly. “Not about this.”

She sniffed, and then took another breath, as if to steady herself. “Elohim was my father, when this world was made. And my name…” she hesitated, and raised her eyes to his. He could see the fear in them, the worry, but he stroked her hair from her face and held her, and she went on. “My name is Eve.”

Chapter Thirteen: Present

“Where is she?” Eve paced the small room she had chosen to dress in. The sitting room was filled with antiques, including a bright red fainting couch, but more importantly, it was just off from the courtyard, which was now filled with guests, all waiting patiently.

Juliette caught her as she crossed the room for the fifth time. “Abby,
s’il te plaît
. Sit,
ma chérie.
Garrit has sent René to find her. I am certain she has only lost track of the time.”

Eve let herself be coaxed to a seat. She rubbed her forehead. “This is just so Mia. Couldn’t she have been late to the rehearsal instead of the wedding? Jean ought to have more sense.”

Her mother patted her arm. “Don’t be so hard on your sister.”

Eve rolled her eyes.

Someone knocked on the door and then Mia burst in, breathless. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I didn’t have a watch.” Her dress was wrinkled and her hair fell from what used to be an organized pile on the top of her head. She went straight to the mirror and started pulling out bobby pins and sticking them back in. Half a dozen of them appeared in her mouth almost immediately. “Did you know this mansion has a hall of portraits? Like a proper English manor!”

Eve froze, her gaze sliding from her sister to Juliette, whose eyes had narrowed.

Mia kept talking around the bobby pins in her mouth. “It’s amazing. All of the DeLeon men have the same dark eyes. They’re all so handsome. Have you ever seen that portrait at the very end of the hall? Their matriarch or something.” Mia looked at Eve, studying her face. “She looks remarkably like you. I wonder if that’s why Garrit fell in love with you. Some weird Oedipus complex.” She turned back to the mirror and only then seemed to notice Juliette. “Oh! No offense of course, Mrs. DeLeon.”

“Less talk, more putting yourself back together, Mia,” Eve muttered, exchanging a look with her future mother-in-law. “Please.”

Juliette smiled. “I’ll just tell
Père
Robert we are nearly ready.” She slipped out of the room.

“I hope I didn’t offend her. I was just saying.”

“Mia, please. Can you focus? We’re already a half hour late. There are two hundred people out there waiting on you.”

Mia grimaced, and even that expression was somehow seductively attractive. Eve sighed. After all these generations, still, each new set of siblings managed to drive her mad. Mia pulled the last pin from between her lips and secured the final strand of hair back into place, then reapplied her lipstick. “Ready!”

“You look beautiful, Mia,” their mother said, hugging her. “And Abby, of course, you look wonderful. Garrit will be beside himself.”

Eve stood and smoothed her dress before picking up the bouquet. It would be a relief to have this over with, and go back to being with her family. Her first family. It was so difficult to be Abby, when she was just getting used to being Eve again. “Mother, why don’t you go out first? Luc will be waiting to seat you.”

“Of course dear.” Her mother kissed her cheek, squeezing her free hand. “I’m so proud of you, Abby.” She opened the door and the sounds from the courtyard drifted in.

Eve could’ve sworn she heard René’s voice speaking urgently nearby. But then the door swung shut again, and it was quiet in the room.

“I really am sorry, Abby.” Her sister offered an apologetic smile.

Eve sighed. “You always are.”

“You look absolutely stunning. If that makes a difference.”

Eve shook her head. “I live with DeLeon men, Mia. I’m immune to flattery.”

Mia hugged her. “Jean will be so distracted by you, he won’t even look at me, I’m sure.”

“Now I know it’s flattery.” Eve smiled and pulled the door open. “At least wait until after the reception before you run off with him, would you?”

Mia flashed a grin and took up her own bouquet. “I think I can manage that.”

Eve waited another minute or so until the murmur of conversation died down outside, and then left the room. Her father stood at the back of the tent, for once his face not showing pink.

He blew his nose loudly into a handkerchief, stuffed it back into a pocket, and then took her hand. “Lovely,” he sniffed. “I’m so proud of you.”

She never had understood the pride of a parent in the marriage of a child. But she squeezed her father’s hand, and they turned toward the aisle. Garrit stood at the far end, and he was looking at her as though he’d never seen her before. Heat flushed her cheeks, and the wedding march began to play.

They started down the aisle, but Garrit’s gaze shifted slightly and his mouth firmed. She looked back over her shoulder to see what had distracted him.

Adam had just slipped into the courtyard.

Monsieur
Owen, Garrit’s supposed doorman, moved quickly toward him and Adam’s eyes widened in surprise. Owen caught him by the arm and hauled him back roughly. They disappeared almost as quickly as they had come.

Garrit had stepped away from the aisle to speak to Brienne, who rose and slipped into the manor through the kitchen door. Eve’s heart raced, and the room began to spin. Garrit moved purposefully down the aisle toward her.

And everything went dark.